CLXXXII.

He left the room for his relinquished sword, And Julia instant to the closet flew. "Fly, Juan, fly! for Heaven's sake--not a word-- The door is open--you may yet slip through The passage you so often have explored-- Here is the garden-key--Fly--fly--Adieu! Haste--haste! I hear Alfonso's hurrying feet-- Day has not broke--there's no one in the street."

CLXXXIII.

None can say that this was not good advice, The only mischief was, it came too late; Of all experience 't is the usual price, A sort of income-tax laid on by fate: Juan had reached the room-door in a trice, And might have done so by the garden-gate, But met Alfonso in his dressing-gown, Who threatened death--so Juan knocked him down.